


our faces like a mirror

by queertitan



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dubious Consent, Episode 25, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queertitan/pseuds/queertitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been so bad. To lose to Aomine until he wins.</p><p>(College basketball AU; spoilers for episode 25.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	our faces like a mirror

**Author's Note:**

> note: this takes place in an alternate timeline spanning high school/college instead of middle school/high school - essentially, everyone is aged up about four years, so kise and aomine are 20 here. also posted on [my tumblr](http://fakeandroid.tumblr.com/post/93843781532/our-faces-like-a-mirror-aomine-kise-nc-17).

Underdogs always win. Not first, not fastest. Not easiest. Not until they want it enough to work and work and work victory into their bodies and bones. Not until the taste of it is sour in their mouths. Not until the moment is right and the stakes are high and the noise of the crowd is at fever pitch.

Kise chews his lips red before the match.

He can taste it now. Sour as vinegar, he can taste Aomine on his knees, score flashing over their heads. He can taste the pride swelling in his chest, Aomine’s mouth turning down, that twist of humiliation at the corner of his lips. He can almost taste the look in Aomine’s eyes when Aomine realizes he’ll never be perfect again.

In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been so bad. To lose to Aomine until he wins. He’s grown up chasing Aomine’s long shadow, through high school and half of their college years, as teammate and friend and rival and enemy. He’ll almost be sorry when it’s done. He’ll go back to being the golden boy who couldn’t fail, and this time he’ll know to bask in it.

The thing about being an underdog is that you never really lose. You lose until you win, and then you win forever.

-

But not yet.

It doesn’t sink in until he sees the clock, sees the sixty seconds left. Sixty seconds ticking down and no time to make up the score. No time. No wonder Aomine’s teammates are smiling. Realization drips like ice into Kise’s stomach, that this won’t be it. This can’t be their last game, because right here, he’s going to lose again.

Kasamatsu thumps him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble out of his own head. “Stay focused!”

Kise sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Got it!”

He’s off and running, but not quick enough. Aomine’s shoes squeak and thunder on the court as he races up alongside Kise, swings one hand out at him so violently that Kise staggers back, nearly losing his footing. It’s a steal—the ball spins out of his hands, slaps the court like an angry hand. Kise almost screams, because he doesn’t have _time_ for this, no time to chase Aomine down and steal the ball and shoot and shoot—he doesn’t have enough time.

Seconds and sweat dripping down his back, and he can’t stop Aomine from scoring again. Let alone score himself.

He doesn’t know how long he has left but he feels it going. The crowd is so so quiet, like it’s counting every second as it disappears. And Kise snags a pass and jumps and tries to shoot again, but his legs are shaking and Aomine is there. Aomine takes it from him. Like Aomine takes everything from him.

Kise doesn’t see the time tick out, but his body is ready to fold when the whistle blows.

He drops to his knees, rocks back on his heels. The roar of the crowd is heavy static in his ears. He sprawls on his ass and his body starts to shake, and the air aches in his raw lungs, his skin sticky and hot.

When he tries to stand up, all he does is shake harder. He punches the floor, but all that does is bruise the backs of his fingers.

“Can you stand?” It’s Kasamatsu, calm and sturdy even now. He offers Kise his hand, but Kise doesn’t even try to take it. No. No, he can’t stand. He tries to choke out an apology for not being able to stand, for not being good enough, but it sticks in his throat and aches.

Eventually, Kasamatsu helps him up, and he starts crying. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds his teeth but the tears keep rolling down his face, mingling with sweat, dripping from his jaw. If it weren’t for Kasamatsu, he’d be crawling. As if Aomine hasn’t watched him crawl enough.

When Kise opens his eyes again, he sees Aomine across the court, watching him blankly. Their eyes catch, and Aomine smiles. It’s a bland, mocking smile, but his stare is something else. The weight of his attention is an invitation, and a burn on Kise’s skin.

Kise shivers and looks down, and Kasamatsu gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

 _You don’t get it_ , Kise thinks. It’s not about basketball. It’s not about the score. All that matters is winning.

And he knows he won’t win before he even starts playing, but he still can’t help but show up.

-

He slips away from the team while they’re debating where to go for a post-game meal, mumbling an excuse and ignoring Kasamatsu’s concerned stare. The corridors are thickly silent, muggy with the leftover energy of the match. Kise feels along the wall as he walks, his legs as stiff and brittle as twigs.

He’s so focused on not tripping, he runs straight into Aomine’s chest. Kise jumps back, fingers scrabbling at the wall for purchase. “Excuse me—oh.” And then he realizes who’s staring back at him. “It’s just you, Aominecchi.”

Aomine chuckles. “Asleep on your feet?”

Kise’s head is like lead, but he keeps his voice light, a smirk on his lips. “Did you follow me?”

“You came to my locker room,” Aomine says, amused. He grips Kise’s arm, sure and strong. “Come on. Everyone else went on ahead.”

Kise lets himself be towed inside the empty locker room. Aomine has never been very careful about keeping what they do private—after all, he thinks he’s invulnerable—but he does take half a second to turn around and lock the door behind them. Kise takes the opportunity to stagger toward the nearest bench.

He makes it half a step before Aomine grabs him, snagging both of his arms and pulling them behind him, pulling Kise into him—Kise grunts, his muscles protesting, but he doesn’t pull away. The warmth of Aomine’s chest leaches into his sore back when he slumps against him, dropping his head onto Aomine’s shoulder.

Aomine noses at the side of his neck, kisses under his ear. “You taste salty,” he mutters. “Been crying?”

“That’s _sweat_ ,” Kise grumbles, although he isn’t actually sure.

“Were you going to shower, or just go home in your uniform looking like that?”

Kise tries to elbow him in the stomach, but only manages a useless wriggle. “I still look good.”

Aomine hums, maybe in acknowledgement. “I’m impressed that you’re standing up. Kasamatsu was ready to carry you home, wasn’t he?”

“Jealous?” Kise snips, as if Aomine would be jealous of having teammates who care about him.

Aomine laughs into the side of his neck, the sound a warm hum against Kise’s ear. His voice is a little rough with exertion, a little huff of breath at the end of each word. Kise arches his back, pushing against Aomine’s chest, hips, cock. “Your eyeliner started to smudge,” Aomine says. “It distracted me.”

“You’re easy to distract.”

“Easy for you,” Aomine says, and that should not send a flush of pride skittering across Kise’s skin, but it does, it does, even as Aomine pulls him roughly backwards and nearly drags him off his feet.

Kise stumbles, his legs throbbing with every uncertain step, and it’s almost a relief when Aomine catches him by the shoulders, turns him around, and shoves him into the flat, cold steel of a locker. Kise shifts his weight against the locker, barely regaining his balance before Aomine crowds into him and kisses him and tugs Kise’s shorts down with one finger.

“Ah—Aominecchi—” He groans, half in lust and half because he’s not sure what more his body can take. He’s hovering on the edge of exhaustion so deep he could pass out right here, but his nerves still jitter in time with Aomine’s hand, those fingers stroking his stomach, slipping under the waist of his shorts and closing, squeezing around his cock. Kise squirms, gasping.

Aomine works him in firm, aggressive strokes, and kisses him the same way, pressing close and caging Kise against the wall. Kise has no room to breathe, no room to move, only just enough space to grip at Aomine’s shirt and roll his hips into Aomine’s hand in unsteady jerks. His head is hazy with Aomine’s closeness, his legs trembling. His body tenses tighter with every squeeze of Aomine’s hand. Whatever he had left after the match—Aomine wants to wring it out of him now.

Sweat beads along his temples and his heart thumps, loud and aching. “I hate you,” Kise groans, somewhere in the midst of it all. Aomine laughs, and Kise wants to spit in it his face: I mean it, I hate you. Even if he doesn’t. He wants it to be true so much he could almost believe it.

Instead, he comes, so quickly it’s almost embarrassing—would be if he weren’t too tired to think about it, shuddering full-body and whimpering and burying his face in Aomine’s chest. He’s so dizzy, it takes him a moment to notice that he’s clinging at Aomine’s waist for support. Aomine is holding him, keeping him upright as he sways through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Eventually, Aomine eases him back against the locker, his eyes cool as he looks Kise over. Kise feels scattered, undone; he sucks in a deep breath, straightens, and tries to push past Aomine.

Tries. Aomine pins him against the locker with one hand on his chest, almost playfully—except his face is blank. “Where are you going?”

Kise can’t say _I’m tired_. He can’t say he feels like he’s back on the court and he’s trembling like a leaf, so tired he could cry again if not for the effort involved. He can’t give up to Aomine’s face, so he purses his lips instead and says, “You said I needed a shower.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No,” Kise says, but Aomine slides his hand up to grip Kise’s shoulder and digs his fingers in.

Just like on the court. His body wants to quit, no matter what he wants. All it takes is a little push from Aomine and Kise’s knees give way, his back banging against the locker.

“That’s good,” Aomine mutters. He grips the back of Kise’s hair tightly, holding him still while he pulls his cock out, strokes it a few times; he’s already hard, and the part of Kise that isn’t dead to the world feels a flicker of something like triumph. Aomine wants him, even like this. Aomine can’t help wanting him. Never mind that it’s nothing like victory—it still gets the taste on his tongue.

Aomine jerks on Kise’s hair,  an invitation that might as well be a command for all the choice he has. Kise slumps forward, grabbing at Aomine’s hips to support himself while he sucks down Aomine’s cock. Aomine huffs a startled little breath, like he’s somehow still surprised by Kise’s enthusiasm. His fingers card through Kise’s hair, slowly tightening. He braces himself on the locker above Kise’s head with one arm, leaning forward.

Kise’s head is spinning, or he’d try to steal the ball back. Try to deny Aomine until Aomine clutched at him in desperation, stuttering for control, and broke apart.

But it’s all he can do to keep up with Aomine’s pace, the push and pull of his cock, with sweat running down his temple and his mouth aching from the stretch. When Aomine leans forward and nudges one of his feet between Kise’s spread knees, rubbing the toe of his shoe against his overstimulated cock, Kise makes a high, choked noise and tries to lift himself higher, away from the pressure. But he can’t make his knees agree, and Aomine laughs, his breathing harsh and loud in the empty room.

Kise feels like he’s dissolving, sweating and shaking and sucking greedily, still, the desire to force Aomine to the end lingering somewhere in the back of his mind. The pressure on his cock is some sharp point between agony and pleasure, but he can’t pull himself away from it. All he can do is sink into it, moan and dig and dig his fingers into Aomine’s thighs, harder, harder, until Aomine swears and jerks forward and comes in Kise’s mouth. He bangs his head on the locker, gripping too hard at Kise’s hair. He wheezes for breath, for a moment. Then he pulls away, quickly; he’s never been able to stand overstimulation.

Kise hunches down, resting his palms flat on the floor and trying to catch his breath. He can feel his heart thundering, his shoulders heaving with exertion, sweat making trails down the back of his neck and under his collar—but it’s distant. Like he’s fallen so far, he doesn’t need to get up. He’s almost calm now. He’s a loser, for today.

That’s okay. _Underdogs lose before they win._

Some time passes. Aomine wanders away, and then comes back. And finally he mutters, “Hey.“

Kise stirs. “What?”

“Are you getting up?”

He laughs weakly. “Maybe later.”

Aomine is silent for a moment more, his hands in his pockets, staring down at Kise. Then he says, “You look like shit.”

Kise can imagine what he looks like. “Yeah.” He looks up through the mess Aomine made of his bangs. “Isn’t that your fault?”

Aomine makes a disinterested noise, and Kise waits for him to turn away. Just like on the court. Winners and losers.

Instead Aomine crouches down and pulls Kise’s arm around his shoulders, tugging him unceremoniously to his feet. Kise sags against him in surprise, and stumbles along as Aomine tows him across the room and through another door, into the shower. He props Kise against the wall under the showerhead and, before Kise has a chance to realize what’s happening, switches it on.

A warm blast of water hits him in the face and floods down his chest, soaking his uniform.

Kise splutters, startled awake, hands sliding down the slick tile wall behind him. “Aominecchi!” he whines. When Aomine laughs, Kise wipes his wet bangs out of his eyes and stares indignantly. “You’re supposed to let me take my clothes off first!”

“Whatever,” Aomine says. “They were going to stink anyway.”

Kise slumps against the wall of the shower as he yanks off his wet shirt, trying to keep eye contact with Aomine so he can glare a hole in his face.

“Where’s your change of clothes?” Aomine asks, turning away.

“In my bag. In Kaijo’s locker room.”

“Take your shoes off before they get wet.” And just like that, Aomine disappears. It’s too late for Kise’s shoes.

Slowly, stiffly, Kise strips off his socks and pants and cranks up the heat of the water. He’s just finished untangling his wet hair when Aomine reappears, carelessly tossing Kise’s bag onto the floor just outside the shower spray. Kise squawks. “Be careful! My phone’s in there!”

“Hurry up and dry off.”

The way Aomine’s hanging around, it almost seems like he’s waiting. But he doesn’t say so, and Kise’s afraid to ask in case he isn’t. He settles for staring suspiciously at Aomine the whole time he’s pulling his clothes on and stumbling through tying his shoes. Aomine pays him no attention at all.

It’s only when Kise starts to walk toward the door that Aomine stirs and comes after him. “Where are you going?” He asks it like Kise should know, like they have plans, like Kise’s trying to get away from him.

“Dinner with Kaijo,” Kise says.

Aomine’s fingers close around his wrist. “What do losers have to celebrate?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Come home with me.”

“What does a loser have to celebrate with you?”

Aomine drapes his arm around Kise’s shoulders, mouth to his ear again, like before. “I can think of a few things.” And for a moment he sounds almost like himself, trying to be smooth.

Kise feels guilt eating up at him, but what he says isn’t no or my team is waiting for me. It’s a loud, whiny, “Buy me dinner, then.”

And Aomine laughs, and the weight of his arm on the back of Kise’s neck is warm and familiar from a long time ago. “Okay, okay.”

It’s not a win. It won’t be a win for Kise or Kaijo when Aomine takes him home and fucks him to exhaustion and back again, easy triumph shining in his eyes, or when Kise wakes up in Aomine’s bed as sore and beaten as he’s ever been. It’ll be familiar defeat, one more fall before the last flight.

The last. Maybe this is the last time Aomine wins.

Kise lets himself savor the thought.


End file.
